Losses
by fireworkfiasco
Summary: Walter never came back for Una, and so she waits… [set after 'Rila of Ingleside']


**Losses**  
Rating: Pg.  
Disclaimer: Umm, if you want to pretend, sure. (Excerpt published by Bantom Books)  
Blurb: Walter never came back for her, and so she waits…

* * *

"_I meant to write Una tonight, too, but I won't have time now. Read this letter to her and tell her it's meant for you both – you two dear, fine loyal girls. Tomorrow, when we go over the top, I'll think of you both – of your laughter, Rilla-my-Rilla, and the _steadfastness_ in Una's blue eyes – somehow I see those eyes very plainly tonight, too. Yes, you'll both keep faith – I'm sure of that – you and Una. And so – goodnight. We go over the top at dawn." …_

_Rilla meant to keep Walter's letter as a sacred treasure. But, seeing the look of Una Meredith's face when Una had read it and held it back to her, she thought of something. Could she do it? Oh, no, she could not give up Walter's letter – his last letter. Surely it was not selfishness to keep it. A copy would be such a soulless thing. But Una – Una had so little – and her eyes were the eyes of a woman stricken to the heart, who yet must not cry out or ask for sympathy._

"_Una, would you like to have this letter – to keep?" she asked slowly._

"_Yes – if you can give it to me," Una said dully._

"_Then – you may have it," said Rilla hurriedly._

"_Thank you," said Una. It was all she said, but there was something in her voice which repaid Rilla for her bit of sacrifice._

_Una took the letter and when Rilla had gone she pressed it against her lonely lips. Una know that love would never come into her life now – it was buried for ever under the blood-stained soil "Somewhere in France." No one but herself – and perhaps Rilla – knew it – would ever know it. She had no right in the eyes of the world to grieve. She must hide and bear her long pain as best she could – alone. But she, too, would keep faith._

-_Rilla of Ingleside_, "And So, Goodnight"

…

I miss him. Every night I lay awake, counting the stars, their jeweled light glinting on my tears as I remember. And every morning I awake and I continue to live, to breath, to know that I am alone. That what I yearn for is lying forgotten across a sea, forgotten and alone.

And I may not weep for him. I may weep for myself, for the lives left behind, but I had no claim on him. I was simply the girl next door who fell silent as he approached, the 'shy' one. The one with nothing to say; who had nothing to lose. But I had everything to lose; it's just no one knew it.

I was never courted or whispered about; the thought of Walter Blythe pairing with Una Meredith a bleak and unthought of picture. But I know the truth of my own heart, the depths of my soul, the love that I can still feel engrained with my blood, storming my body with every beat of my torn heart. I loved – no, I never stopped – I _love_ him. With everything that I had to offer, the things I treasured beyond my life. I would have given even that to know that his was spared, that he could return to his mother's embrace and his father's arms. I would die to know that he could fall in love and have children, little souls with deep gray eyes and jet-black hair. I would die to hear his legacy living on; his poetry spread for the world to hear and know the beauty of his soul. I would die for him, my love.

But instead, I must live on, trapped in this dank, dark world with only a scrap of paper to remember him. A slip of paper that says he could picture my eyes before the last. He thought of me as the silent neighbor girl, someone to chat with about the beauties at the last dance, the one to whisper to about the dreams of the future. I thought of him as a soulmate, as the one, the only one, I would meet at the alter. The only one I would surrender my lips to, allow to break my barriers and cause me to give in. The only man I ever would allow to know me entirely, my body, my soul, my life. He was – is – the only man I can and will ever love.

And he was taken from me. I awake every morning because that's what happens, not because I want it to. I rather sleep forever, never waking to the cold reality that I can't escape. He was taken from the world; away from me, and I can do nothing. The world moves on, its hurried pace not interrupted for the loss of one boy, for the loss of a girl's love, a mother's child, a father's pride. The girl may weep, his mother fall silent, his father anger, but life continues onwards; the survivors tangled in its webs. And we were dragged forward, our sorrow too deep for the shallow world to understand. We were forgotten – I was forgotten – as everyone returned to their lives, their grief long past as they surrounded themselves with family and friends, lovers and children, a happy pocket in a glowing recess of the world.

But we, those who know the pangs of loss, are exiled to a place were we mourn, alone and still in the quiet given to us. That is why I come here, to this silent corner of the world; a place that existed for peace, but now only exists for us to disappear to in times of difficulty. This is his beloved Rainbow Valley; a place of dreams spun as sugar candy and hopes that live forever, engrained in the trees' whisperings as they sway overhead. This is my niche, the only place that my tears recede and my heart stops its painful pounding, allowing me to breath without sorrow and to live without pain. This was his hideaway and now I embrace it in his stead, a place I consider my soul's calling, where I am content with the world.

That is why I'm here now; curled in this corner, away from the hustle of this day as Jem and Faith prepare for their lives together. The sight of her – my darling sister whom I love and adore – so happy as she prepared, made my heart respond with an answering call. I do love her so, lucky as she is, but she has no idea of the loss of others. She doesn't know about the sorrow that taints my heart; all she can see is her own happiness. I almost envy her naivety. She knows nothing else save her bliss, which I know nothing of, only of pain.

She's beautiful, radiant; everything I am not. The vision of her in the gown Mama once wore; the silk still glowing with the glorious luster of true beauty, made my heart twist and I turned, hiding my tears from her world. Trying to convince her that I was simply so happy, so pleased that her life is everything she wanted…

And not that I was dying of jealousy, of wanting what I will never have. I will never don a virgin's veil, never walk down the aisle, never feel love's stirrings. They are buried forever, trapped in another world I cannot visit. I am alone, my life as I know it, over. What I want I cannot have and what I don't is eating me alive.

I want it to end. I want to die, to leave this world for another. The thought of his face as I end it is the only thing still pinning me to this place, this existence that isn't. He would be so disappointed; a feeling I can't mirror. He left me – _me_ – here alone and now I'm fighting to stay, if only for him. I may have meant nothing to him but I cannot let it end this way; I cannot even envision what his face would read if he found I had taken my own life.

But I won't have to. I'm on the path now; the shadows are closing around me and I know that the final days are coming. It is unavoidable; my sorrow is killing me. My tears are running dry, my heart's pounding slowing. It's only a matter of time before it gives up entirely. I once promised that I would keep faith – that I would fight for this _Idea_ that he died to protect. And I am keeping faith. Little me, the forgotten one who weeps when she has no right, whose tears are shed in secret because I _was_ fighting. But I can't anymore. My sorrow has no place in this world; the happiness of others is too overwhelming. I cannot fight a battle that I am no good for. I cannot say that I will fight for an ideal that I cannot win.

I can hear the bells; the wedding's about to begin. They'll wonder were I am; the bridesmaid who's supposed to lead the others. The silly one who stands silent, alone, in the long yellow dress that brings memories I'd rather forget. Memories of him, lying in Rainbow Valley on a carpet of buttercups. That was the day I knew I loved him, his voice enchanting me as he read some sonnet – I cannot remember which – with the scent of lilies dancing in the breeze, his hair ruffling softly, his eyes nearly closed, his hands clasped behind his head as he recited. That yellow, the mellow, rich color of buttercups, makes me yearn for my dreams to come alive.

But they stay dead and dormant and I work to accept that. I work to remind myself that what I wished for is gone. I am working on acceptance. But something inside of me; I cannot name the rush or twist of emotion, won't let me accept it. I fight to forget while I strive to remember, a confusing mush of emotion that makes me sick of it all.

What fuels my memories are the visions; the little memories my broken body brings to life. I'll awaken during the night to find him standing in the corner, hands clasped behind his back. He'll speak to me, I'll respond. Our conversations are about everything and nothing, but they feel so real that I can't believe they aren't. I am delirious with my grief, the visions so factual, so planned that I cry at the sight of him.

Did I mention that this was to be a double wedding? No, I don't believe I did. Yes, I know I said that I escaped the bustle of Jem and Faith, but across the way, over in the Blythe's happy home, there lies the bustle of Rilla and Ken as they, too, prepare for their lives together.

And soon, so very, very soon, Jerry will ask Dr. Blythe for Nan's hand in marriage. And Carl is said to be seeing Di Blythe; even little Shirley Blythe is courting now. The world is pairing off for the next dance and I am left alone. The house is so silent now; the only sounds I ever hear are the soft ticking of the clock in the hall or the gentle patter of feet as Bruce races to be outside. I cannot bear it any longer.

Someone is coming; I can hear their footsteps. I want to hide, not face this day again. There is too much delight in the house, in the world. Whoever it is hesitant; their footfalls are slowing.

Are they looking for me? Or are they, too, interested in the solace that this place offers? Are they running from haunts, demons that materialize in the dark of night to remind you of days better spent in the company of friends or neighbors or lovers?

I stood, brushing out my skirts, trying to turn my head away from thoughts of loss, and turned towards the gentle sound of boot heels on grass. And there, through the trees, though the mist of time and space, reality and fantasy, stood the man of my dreams.

The man that I had lost so very long ago. And I raced to meet him, my sorrows shed like leaves in autumn. He had come for me and I was ready to go.

_:fin:_


End file.
